


You Are Being Decieved

by Mombrine



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Deception, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Shockblurr, autobot turned decepticon, autobots arent inherently the good guys, blurrwave - Freeform, may add more character tags later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 05:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19968502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mombrine/pseuds/Mombrine
Summary: Blurr is a point-one percenter, and he hates it. After being tortured by Autobot scientists, he begins to hate the cause he works for. Can he change sides? Is it too late? Who would help him become a decepticon? None other than Longarm Prime.





	You Are Being Decieved

Blurr was a point-one percenter.

Blurr also hated himself.

Forged from a sleek mold, his spark had been gently placed into its special slot in his frame. When he woke, that’s when he started hating himself. Tests among tests were run. Some were painful, if not most. Fresh from the mold he had dashed around the room, so eager to see the world. Bright-opticed, words coming out so fast that most would stumble on them, he was captured. More so, lured, if that was the proper word for it.

‘The Autobots are good’, they had said, ‘We can help you reach your full potential’, they said. Blurr just hated them all. He hated himself for believing all the lies they had hand fed him from such a vulnerable age. He trusted them, trusted that they wouldn’t hurt him. They had promised, why would they break that promise? But they had, and he despised them. Forced to run until he collapsed, opened up and inspected, prodded around inside of while he was awake.

All of it was too much to bear, so much to bear. He would beg, cry, scream. They would muzzle him. If he spoke too fast, they muzzled him. He had to train to speak slowly, make other mechs understand him. It was atrocious and awful and flat out torture, not that the Autobots cared. They wanted to understand. He would be a valuable tool in the war, and they needed to understand why he was so fast, what made him so special.

Why were there doubles of some point-one percenters, but not others? Why were there many load bearers, but no other mechs like Blurr? Why was there no one else as fast as he? Why was he alone here to suffer this horrendous torture? He wasn’t sure, and they weren’t sure. He was certainly special though, yet he continued to hate himself. There was only one mech he hated more than himself.

Longarm Prime.

He was fast, oh so fast. With that came a fast processor, fast feet, fast mouth. They didn’t like the fast mouth. His intake had been covered with a thick, metal muzzle. He wasn’t supposed to speak anymore. Today was testing day. He was on a treadmill running full tilt into the thing. They had to build special machinery to deal with his immense speed. They, and they being the scientists and his torturers, wanted to see how long he could run like that.

They always wanted to improve on his stamina, always improve him somehow. Mold him and shape him into a tool for their own gain. He could be purging his tanks and they wouldn’t care, so long as he kept running. And, as he ran, he glanced over. Behind a glass wall, talking with other mechs he didn’t recognize, was a blue and grey mech with a false red optic on his forehead. The mech watched curiously, almost hurt at the torturous testing Blurr was being exposed to. Blurr just watched him with a dead stare, used to being observed and getting looks of false pity.

Then he slipped.

He hit the belt hard, shocked that he had faltered. His footing was always so sure, how had he managed to mess up? He would be in so much trouble… He was thrown into a nearby wall by the sheer speed, the muzzle being thrown off by the force of the impact. His whole frame exploded in pain, but that was the least of his worries. The muzzle was finally off. It was such a relief to have it off, a relief beyond what he could even describe. If he kept quiet they wouldn’t put it back on. And that blue and grey mech? He learned that to be Longarm Prime later on.

Longarm had just watched as those stupid scientists dragged him back and made him keep running full tilt into the fragging thing. Limbs burning and cables aching, knowing damn well something was probably out of place somewhere inside his chassis. Longarm had just watched, but that was enough to make a hatred burn deep within the powder blue mech.

Then came the war.

Long and arduous, he was meant for assassination. Quick and deadly, no mercy. His lithe frame was damaged more times than he could count, obviously built for speed and not to withstand. The war was difficult for him, as all he wanted to do was be free from his tormentors. But he was forged an Autobot, and knew nothing else. Decepticons were evil, they had to be exterminated, lest their way of life be damaged. After the war was over, he had been assigned courier, and special ops. Who else on the whole damned planet would he work under besides Longarm Prime.

Autobots made him sick.

Being a courier wouldn’t be all bad, he thought to himself, as at least he got to run as he pleased. He enjoyed the sensation of being so free and able to be out and about as he pleased. Cybertron had changed for the better after the war, but he despised who ran it. He always smiled and put on the pleasantries, trying to be as nice as possible, even if it wasn’t genuine. He spoke little, and slowly. He spoke so slow, to himself at least, that he felt he sounded an idiot. He sounded just fine to everyone else, but today he had slipped.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you mister Longarm Prime sir. I’m Cadet Blurr, stationed in sector seven formerly, promoted to this position. I’ll be stationed as courier under your supervision and I hope to do the best job I can.”

It had come out so fast.

Inside he was panicking, unsure what to do with himself. He felt sick over it, so so sick that he was sure he was going to purge his tanks. Was Longarm going to punish him? Had the prime been given permission to discipline him if he acted improperly? Forgot his training and therapy after oh so long under the care of those miserable excuses for scientists? Outside he looked cool and collected, standing with his servos clasped behind his back. The only indication of his panic was his pede tapping impatiently. At least it appeared to be impatient. It was all he could do to keep himself still. Longarm took a long moment to look him over, from the tapping pede to his bright blue optics.

“At ease, Cadet.” He held up a servo, giving him a kind smile. “I’ve read over your file, I’m pleased that you’ll be working with us. We could use someone with your enthusiasm.” He offered kindly. Blurr seemed to relax, standing at ease as his pauldrons visibly sank a bit in relief.

“I apologize for my previous dialect, sir.” He had slowed his pace significantly, giving the most patient smile he could muster. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go home and talk to himself just to fill the silence, like he did every day. He marched up and down the floor in his home and talked to himself about meaningless things. The silence was unbearable. He needed to fill it with something, even if that something was mindless blabbering about nothing in particular. It was so bad that his neighbors had complained, and he had had to soundproof his flat.

“Oh no, it’s quite alright! I understood you perfectly.”

He looked surprised, optics wide as his optic ridges raised.

“Really…?” He was almost incredulous. No mech had understood him with such ease before.

“Yes, of course.” Longarm nodded. Blurr felt relieved, albeit suspicious. His legs burned from activity, his ever working frame aching for the feeling of wind rushing past. At least during the war he was always busy, always moving. He had barely had time to refuel in peace. “You’re certainly not the same mech I met before.”

Blurr wanted to run.

He closed his optics briefly, trying to vent evenly.

“Why did you become an Autobot?” Longarm asked casually, as if he was simply disregarding his previous statement. He knew good and damn well why, how he hadn’t had a choice in the matter in any way, shape, or form.

“I didn’t sir, I was forged this way.” Talking so slow hurt. It hurt every fibre of his being. “If I had to give a reason, given the chance, I would say to better Cybertron.” He was disgusted at his own words. Those had come out of his own intake.

“If you had the opportunity to change sides,” Longarm began slowly, pushing himself up from his desk with his servos resting on the top. He moved to turn, glancing out the window behind him, “would you?”

Blurr felt that was very out of left field.

He would change sides in a sparkbeat to be free from these monsters.

“No sir.” He said firmly, hating having to lie that way. If someone gave him the barest hint of an opportunity, he would take it. He felt, however, that this was a test. If so he passed with flying colors. Longarm hummed softly, nodding a bit, seemingly pleased with himself. He turned around, looking to his desk with that friendly smile back on his faceplates.

“You’re an excellent soldier. Here, I have your first assignment.” Longarm opened a drawer, reaching in and fishing out a few datapads. He was given a briefing on who they were meant for, and what he was to brief them on in handing off the sensitive materials. He nodded, making sure to remember every little bit of information he was given, all with the hope of being out of that office sooner.

Blurr was thankful to finally get out and Run. Run with the datapads in his subspace. Run until he couldn’t run anymore. His stamina had been improved to ridiculous lengths, and he was proud of himself. He would be more proud if it hadn’t been under such awful circumstances. He delivered everything, collecting vital information he was supposed to receive in return. His tasks were always menial, and he disliked everyone he met, but he was out. He was free. He could go home every night and relax.

He did just that after running around for joors and joors, taking things here and there, surprised that they had so much backlog. Their couriers weren’t very good at their job, obviously. That or they were just slow. Blurr chuckled to himself at the thought of that. His amusement soon faded however as he got home, letting himself in by punching in the code to unlock the door. He made sure it was firmly locked behind him.

Then he screamed.

He screamed in anger. In frustration. In hurt for why all of this was happening to him. Why did this have to happen to him? He couldn’t have worked under anyone else on this whole miserable planet? This planet festering with the Autobot disease? He was in absolute agony, ranting to himself, crying, running back and forth in blind frustration. He ran so much, in fact, that he only noticed he needed to refuel when he felt slightly sick.

He tried to settle down, grabbing himself some energon before sitting down on his couch with a pathetic little huff, annoyed and angry with the day’s events. His flat wasn’t furnished very much, mostly to leave room for him to run around and pace as he pleased. Even as he sat on his couch, one pede propped up on the coffee table before him, his pede tapped in the air. He sipped thoughtfully as he stared at the wall beside his viewing screen, mulling over the cycle’s events. He wondered to himself how long he would have to put up with the awful mech. A long time, he assumed.

He could always assassinate him, like he had so many other mechs. Run away to Earth and never look back. He swirled the energon in its cube, looking down at the pinkish liquid inside. Should he just deal with it for now? Run away some other time? What was he even to begin to think about doing? He sighed heavily, taking another drink from the container as he laid back into the couch with a low grumble. He drained the remainder of the contents, leaning forward to set it down on the coffee table with a huff.

“What am I gonna do…” he muttered to himself, shifting to lay down on the couch. Next thing he knew he was jolting online as he fell onto the floor, groaning weakly. He checked his chronometer, and only a few joors had passed since he managed to fall into recharge. He propped himself up, moving to make his way to his berth. He grumbled to himself as he opened the door to his berthroom, shutting it carelessly behind himself with a pede. He moved to crawl into his berth, climbing beneath the covers with a sigh. He let his optics offline and drifted into recharge.

_All of a sudden he was back in that room, running full tilt into the treadmill. No… No this wasn’t right! He shouldn’t be here again! He was panicking a bit, wishing he could rip off that stupid muzzle. He felt like he wasn’t in control of his body, as he would tear the damn thing off if he could move his arms. He shuddered in fear as he continued to run._

_He found himself compelled to look to the window, and who else would be standing there but Longarm. He growled a bit, huffing as he focused on his footwork. His legs gave out on their own regardless, and he was sent hurling back into the wall. He huffed, much more disoriented than he had been in the actual occurrence. He glanced to the window with blurred vision, hearing laughter. Longarm was laughing at him.Had he laughed the first time too? He hadn't payed attention. He was being dragged up by the scientists again, wincing painfully. That's when things began to change. He protested, deliberately._

_"Let go of me!!" He shouted, finally in control. He wriggled and fought, freeing his right arm from the large mech that had been carrying him. He shifted to move to his left, turning to flip the smaller mech that had his left arm. He dashed behind the larger mech just as they leaned down to scoop him up in a restraining bear hug.He kicked in the back of one of their knees, the door to the room suddenly opening. Longarm stood in the doorway, arms stretching out to wrap up the speedster faster than he could react, wriggling as he was squeezed._

_"N-No! No! Put me down!" He begged, wriggling as he was on the verge of tears. The Prime pulled him closer, a maniacal grin plastered on his faceplates as he did so._

_"My my, what have we here? You didn't fight back the last time. Why would you fight now? You know you'll never win." Blurr had been looking everywhere but at the mech who held him captive, finally letting his optics rest on the Autobot. His energon ran cold for some reason._ _Longarm gave off a horrific energy he couldn't describe, but it rubbed him all sorts of the wrong way. He wriggled harder as he was squeezed tighter, almost to the point that he was breathless._

_"You had better come online before I keep you here..." He growled lowly._

He bolted up with a gasp, his alarm beeping insistently. His chassis heaved as he tried to calm himself, his readout staggeringly high at the moment from the stress. He shut off his alarm, swallowing thickly between gasps as he clutched at the berthcovers. He swung his legs from the berth with a long sigh, exhausted and feeling like he hadn't rested a single bit. It was going to be a long day.

He dragged himself up, stumbling to his doorway. He had burned a lot of fuel in his recharge state, most likely from thrashing around in his berth. With a quick glance back to it, he saw the covers a mess, and decided that was the most logical explanation. He moved out to his kitchen, rummaging in his fridge for energon, breaking the seal on the cube with his dentae and drinking it just like that.

He felt miserable and had no intention of doing more work than he needed to at the moment. He dragged himself back into his berthroom to get to his washracks, letting the solvent run for a moment to get warm before stepping below it. He sighed softly, moving to take another drink. He was so unsettled. What was it about Longarm that had been so absolutely terrifying? His spark ached with worry just thinking about it… He tried to push the thoughts from his processor as he moved to scrub himself down, setting the half empty cube down on a nearby shelf.

He turned off the solvent, drying himself thoroughly before grabbing his energon cube, finishing the rest in one go. He stretched a bit, sighing as he headed to his front door. He made sure it was locked behind him, and headed off towards the government building he was now stationed in. He exchanged pleasantries with Cliffjumper, although they were feigned, and reported to Longarm for more assignments. He still couldn’t shake the awful feeling as he knocked, and entered when called out to.

He saluted, and waited until Longarm told him to stand at ease to do so. He felt like the Prime somehow knew what he had dreamt about, and could see right through him. If he did know, he didn’t let on in the slightest. He was given a briefing and sent on his way. He was relieved, but the thoughts still lingered in the back of his processor. What was wrong with Longarm? The terrifying thoughts wouldn’t leave him, and the nightmares increased in frequency and intensity.

_Blurr was laying on a table. He squinted against the harsh artificial light that assaulted his optics. He moved to use a servo to shield them, only to be met with the fact that he was strapped down securely. When his optics adjusted he moved to look around as best he could. A familiar room surrounded him, a chemical smell filling his olfactory sensors. He knew this place a bit too well, and knew damn well he shouldn’t be here again._

_Soon the door slid open with a hiss, and Longarm Prime stepped in, watching him with a calculating gaze. Blurr always felt like that false optic on his forehelm was always watching him, but he wasn’t sure why. It was a false optic, it couldn’t watch anything… right? Besides, Longarm had only seen him once while he was in the custody of the scientists. Why was he here now? Hadn’t another mech done exploratory surgery on him? Definitely so. He quickly pushed the thought away as the door hissed shut, Longarm moving to stand beside the table. He clicked his glossa as he shook his helm, watching the restrained mech with an emotion that could only be described as disgust._

_“Poor thing…” He mumbled, watching him for another brief moment before turning his attention to a nearby table, lined with medical tools. He selected a special tool used for removing plating from the protoform, examining it in perfect view of his captive. Blurr began thrashing, trying to lift his arms and legs, secured in such a way that, even if he thrashed, he wouldn’t be able to move and disrupt whatever what about to occur._

_That’s when the plating was removed._

_He was then vaguely aware that he was muzzled yet again, as he had tried to scream. These mechs really hated when he made any sort of noise, didn’t they? By the time his internals were exposed on his abdomen and chassis, he was a sobbing mess, coolant streaming down his faceplates as he tried to take deep vents. He pulled off the table with a muffled scream as the Autobot began poking around inside him, the experience less than comfortable. He just wanted it to stop. He would do anything to make it stop just please please_ **_please_ ** _make the pain stop._

Blurr screamed in terror as he jolted up, clutching at his abdomen as he gasped in deep gulping vents. His servos flew to check his chassis, making sure everything was still there. He was glad that his flat was soundproofed, otherwise the mechs in surrounding flats would’ve thought someone was being offlined. He trembled, moving to cover his faceplates with his servos. He really hated Autobots with every fibre of his being. He wouldn’t be able to slip back into recharge like this, so he simply sat and waited for his alarm to go off.


End file.
